Selfish
by lifeluver
Summary: Because the only thing more selfish than grief is the way people react to it.  Kurt/Artie friendship fic set during 2x03.


Because the only thing more selfish than grief is the way people react to it.

When Artie finally finds him after almost an hour of wheeling aimlessly around the hospital with a home-cooked casserole resting on his lap he almost can't bring himself to approach his friend.

Which is in and of itself, completely idiotic, considering that was the entire point of this expedition.

But something inside his chest clenches when he sees Kurt sitting on the cold, hard bench staring into his styrofoam coffee cup as though it's the only thing he's still holding onto in this world. Because when Artie stops to describe his friends he can think of a million adjectives for Kurt, some kind and some less so, but strong is always at the top of the list.

He pulls himself out of dumpsters with a grace that no one should be able to achieve when covered with day old spaghetti, he wipes slushie from his eyes and turns corn-syrup stained designer outfits into a fashion statement.

He cries, and he has unrequited crushes on straight boys that Artie really regrets not addressing a little earlier last year, he gets his heart broken and he snaps and throws catty comments at his friends, and he's incredibly imperfect in all the best and worst ways. But Kurt Hummel never, ever breaks.

The indestructibility of Kurt's bitchy spirit is kind of one of the very few things Artie has faith in in this world. And in a selfish way, he really doesn't want to lose that.

But this isn't about him, he reminds himself, and pushes himself forward while mentally rehearsing the speech he carefully planned out that afternoon.

"I told them it was a bad idea."

Kurt starts and tears his gaze away from his latte to look up at Artie. It takes him a minute to realize that he just blurted that out and Artie can feel a flush rising on his cheeks.

"I mean, the prayer circle thing. I told them it was insensitive, but only Tina and Mike listened." And even they decided to do a private one away from the hospital, he mentally added. Kurt was still looking at him, his eyes wide and uncomprehending, and suddenly Artie didn't quite know why he felt it was so important to assert his innocence; that was probably the last thing going through his friend's mind.

He really wished he knew what he was supposed to say though, because he hated feeling this utterly helpless.

"No," Kurt said softly, turning away from him. "It was...nice I guess. I shouldn't have yelled at them. They were trying to help."

For a few moments the only noise was of Kurt gently tearing the plastic cup lid apart, scrunching up the pieces and letting them fall to the ground.

"Did it? Help, I mean."

Kurt shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe. I don't know. If any of that stuff actually is real, I guess it might've." His voice was laced with doubt though, and it was clear he still didn't believe it could make any difference.

"No, I meant did it help you? Did it make you feel better?"

A strange expression flittered across Kurt's face, a cross between confused and surprised. Like he hadn't expected the question; like no one had asked it before.

"No. It didn't. It just made me angry."

Artie nodded; he'd told them that when Rachel, Quinn and Mercedes approached him about accompanying them to the hospital that afternoon. He'd warned them that there was no way Kurt would appreciate it, but they'd blown him off and he'd let them.

"Because you don't believe like they do?" he clarifies.

"_No_," Kurt stresses forcefully, but then his voice falters. "I don't know how to explain it," he admits.

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, and Artie hesitantly reaches out to rest his hand over Kurt's. Almost immediately he feels fingers threading through his own, clutching tightly. He returns the gesture, stroking the inside of Kurt's palm with his thumb the way his mother always does when he's upset.

Finally something seems to occur to Kurt, and he asks, "How'd you know I'd be here? It's got to be past ten."

"Almost midnight actually," Artie corrects, glancing at the expansive night sky above them; clouds are obscuring the normally brightly shining stars. "I went to Mercedes' house to talk to you first, but she told me you were staying with Finn. Then I went to Finn's..." Kurt's gaze falls to the ground again, awkwardly avoiding his eye, and Artie lets the sentence trail off unfinished.

"I like staying in my room. It feels normal." Artie decides not to push it any further than that.

He wracks his brain, mentally replaying old movies or television episodes that dealt with death, trying to remember what the characters said to each other, what platitudes they used, how they made it better. He feels like the worst friend in the world; he can't think of a single comforting thing to say.

So, he decides, screw it. "Both my parents are alive. They've never been seriously sick with cancer or anything like that. I think my dad had his gall bladder taken out when I was young, but all I remember is getting to order pizza that night and watching a basketball game with the babysitter." He can feel Kurt's eyes on him, watching him closely, and he takes that as encouragement to continue.

"My grandfather died when I was seven, and I went to the funeral. My parents kept telling me that it was ok to cry, but I only knew him as a guy I saw twice a year and who gave me stuffed animals and gumballs. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I've never really lost anyone. I've lost something important, obviously," Kurt's eyes flick briefly down to his chair then back up, "but I've never lost the people that make me feel better when I lose important things, if that makes any sense at all. I have no idea what you're going through, and I'm not going to pretend I do. But if you need _anything_, food or help with school, or someone to talk to, just let me know, and I'll do everything I can, because this seriously sucks."

Kurt's watching him carefully when he finally concludes his embarrassing bout of word vomit, and Artie can't read his expression, but he can see the unshed tears shining brightly just beneath the surface, trying to push free.

"When Mercedes sang that song to me on Monday, do you remember what she said?"

Artie shook his head; he'd been too concerned with whether or not he should've hugged Kurt when he entered, if it had made him look bad that he hadn't.

"She said she'd been trying to figure out what to say to me all day long. And that's nice, it truly is, and the sentiment behind the song was incredibly sweet, but I didn't need her to try to say the right thing, or to sing the right song. I just wanted her to say _something_, to just be there for me." His voice breaks a little, and the words are beginning to spill over each other in his rush to get them out.

"I don't need them to go behind my back and organize prayer circles when I'm not there, I wanted them to be there with me. And I know I shouldn't have gone to Sue, she's betrayed us more times than I can count, but the way she was talking to me, like my beliefs _meant _something, like they weren't just a problem that needed to be fixed, that felt good. And maybe it was selfish, but I wanted to be treated like a human being instead of this piece of glass that's about to shatter. It's not their fault, they're doing what they think is right, but I can't help it, it just makes me _angry_."

And sad and lonely, Artie thinks, but doesn't say it out loud.

"That's not selfish, Kurt. Not even a little." After all, he would know. "I should've stuck up for you, in the choir room the other day. They were all completely out of line, and I didn't say anything because I was scared or something." He laughs ruefully. "Put me in front of an audience of three hundred people and I have no problem belting out classic _Stones_ hits, but a room filled with ten of my closest friends and I completely blanch."

He can feel Kurt studying him out of the corner of his eye. "Is that why you don't ever sing solos for the weekly assignments?"

Trust Kurt to be shockingly insightful and observant during a crisis.

"I guess so. I mean, I always do them, but Schue doesn't usually call me up, and I don't volunteer. I don't know how you do it, go up there and share something that personal."

"It's the only way I ever knew how," Kurt answers, his voice soft again. Artie can feel the other boy's fingertips digging into the skin on his hand; he ignores the pricks of pain and squeezes back.

"Do you believe in God, Artie?"

It's a complete non-sequitur, but Artie thinks he might know just what Kurt had been thinking about before he got there.

He meets Kurt's unsure eyes and says sincerely, "Honestly, I don't really know. I think I believe in something out there, but I don't know what, exactly. I mean, when I don't study for a math test I find myself praying to something that I don't fail, but then it's never even occurred to me to pray after I lost my legs. And it's not because of my accident or anything, but I don't like the idea of just blindly accepting the ways other people have interpreted things, so maybe I just don't believe in _religion_." He laughs at his own lack of eloquence. "Or maybe I should just start my own."

"The Church of Vague and Unclear Sentiments?" Kurt whispers, the words lacking any bite, but Artie snorts anyway.

"Something like that."

"It'd probably be more popular than you think."

"Just so you know, there's nothing wrong with not believing in anything. It doesn't make you wrong, it's just different. I should've said that back in the choir room last week."

"Thank you," Kurt's eyes are filled with so much sincerity Artie almost looks away instinctively, but instead he holds the gaze.

They're quiet for a few moments longer, and Artie belatedly becomes aware of the plastic container in his lap. "Oh yeah, I made you this," he says, fumbling with it with the hand not still holding Kurt's. "It's a casserole, not very good, but I made it myself. I think that's what people are supposed to do in crisis or something."

"Thanks." He takes it, and Artie knows he won't eat it (it's undoubtedly got a high transfat count or something), but a tiny weight is lifted off his chest anyway.

"Artie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really scared." He sounds so small, so young, and Artie can barely even make out his features through the darkness.

"I wish I could tell you it's all going to be OK," he says quietly, his voice faltering slightly. "It's times like these I really wish I was an optimist."

He thinks he sees the glint of Kurt's teeth, and he hopes that means he's smiling. "Yeah, me too."

Kurt is fingering the container of casserole idly, his cup of coffee perching precariously on top of it. "Would you mind just...talking for a while? If you're not busy?"

Artie nods immediately; it's nearly midnight on a Friday night, his only engagement is with a Halo game. "Anything in particular you want to talk about or...?"

"Anything," Kurt breathes out, the word tinged with desperation, and Artie hears the unspoken plea behind it.

"We won our second game tonight. I didn't get to play or anything, but we still won. That new kid, Sam, he got carted off with some sort of injury and Finn got his quarterback position back. He didn't seem to happy though; he kept going on about a sandwich bringing more pain than pleasure and something about Rachel's boobs when we were the locker room." Kurt wrinkles his nose at the last part and as Artie talks his body relaxes slightly, or at the very least he was no longer pulsing with barely controlled tension.

"At first I thought it was a metaphor, but then I remembered that it's Finn, and he's probably just got indigestion or something." Kurt coughs, and it almost sounds like a laugh.

He's searching his brain for something else to talk about (he doesn't think any of his Halo endeavors would be of much interest to his friend) and is about to bring up his latest plan to win Tina back and push Mike Chang down a well when Kurt clears his throat.

"I, uh, I got this acupuncturist to work on him." His voice his even higher than normal and the words are stilted and awkward, so Artie nods encouragingly. "It's supposed to do something for his blood, or circulation, or something. I didn't really understand it that well, I was always dreadful at biology, but Ask Jeeves said it was supposed to help."

Artie can picture Kurt in the library during his lunch period, sandwiched between a Cheerio doing a last minute English paper and a jock googling lesbian porn, researching alternative methods to help his possibly dying father. The image kind of makes him want to vomit.

"Is it helping?"

"I don't know. I doubt it, but it felt good to do something."

Thinking back to his own frustrating attempts to measure out the proper amount of beans for his mother's casserole while stubbornly refusing her assistance he replies, "I get that."

"Do you mind if I ask why you're still here? Didn't visiting hour end ages ago?"

Kurt laughs hollowly and turns away, surreptitiously wiping his face.

"It's stupid. I was going to leave. I was just going to finish my coffee and then drive home. And while I was sitting here, I remembered there was an America's Next Top Model marathon on tonight, and that's always good for mindless, numb entertainment. And then I realized, if _something_ happened, and I was at home, watching Tyra harangue those wanna-be models...I don't know. I just couldn't make myself leave. Like I said, it's stupid."

Suddenly Artie really didn't want to know when visiting hours ended at the hospital; he had no desire to know how long his friend had been sitting on a wooden bench, too scared to go home. Too scared to let things to back to some semblance of normal, only to have it snatched away again.

"You know there is nothing you could do that would make this your fault, right?" he says forcefully, but Kurt doesn't seem to hear him.

"He was disappointed in me," Kurt whispers, so softly that Artie has to strain to hear him. "I wanted to go to the Sing-along Sound of Music, and I blew him off. And now it's Friday night, and I'd give anything to be sitting at that stupid dinner table, even with Finn and Carole, even with all the awkwardness and never knowing how to talk to each other, even with those fattening foods that I _told _him not to eat, I _told _him so many times that they were unhealthy and bad for your figure and..."

Artie really doesn't understand half of that, and has no clue what the Sound of Music has to do with anything, but he knows enough to finally throw all his own self-consciousness about how to deal with his friend's grief out the window, wheel himself a few inches closer and pull Kurt into a firm hug as he dissolves into the harsh, wracking sobs he'd been holding in for a week.

It doesn't last nearly as long as Artie was expecting it to, and before he knows it Kurt is sniffling loudly and trying to regain his composure, gently pulling his head out of the crook of Artie's shoulder.

He doesn't let go of his hand though.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to break down like that. I think I'm just overtired."

It never ceases to amaze Artie just how quickly Kurt could shut down his emotions. "Kurt. Don't be sorry, not for that." He offers him a small smile and he thinks it's returned.

"Right. Well I should probably," Kurt gestures towards the parking lot, in doing so knocking his empty coffee cup from it's perch on his lap. "Did you need a ride?"

Artie considers; when his mother had dropped him off she'd promised to pick him up no matter how late it got. "Yeah, that'd be good. You all right to drive?"

"I'm fine." The two worst words in the English language, as far as Artie's concerned, and he expresses as much with a raised eyebrow. "Really," Kurt reassures him, standing and rummaging for his keys in his back pocket. For the first time Artie notices the wrinkles in his usually impeccably pressed clothes, and for some odd reason that makes the whole situation sink in in a way it hadn't before.

They do indeed make it to Artie's house in one piece, and Kurt spends the entirety of the drive humming along to the _Across the Universe _soundtrack. When they pull up in front of his house though, and Artie can see the light still on in his living room, Kurt makes no move to help him out of the car. Instead, he simply stares blankly at his windshield.

He knows the answer, but he tries anyway. "Do you maybe want to spend the night?"

"No. I like staying in my house."

He still doesn't move though, and Artie hopes he's not overstepping his boundaries with the next question. "Would you mind if I slept over at your place? I've been fighting with my parents a lot, and I could use the break." It's a blatant lie, they both know it, but Kurt's wide, grateful eyes are worth it.

"That-that'd be fine. I can make some room for you." Artie smiles and sends his mom a quick text message (he adds a 'love u' as an afterthought; he's been slightly more susceptible to random bouts of sentimentality in the past week) and this time hums along with Kurt as they drive.

Wheeling into the Hummel house after a difficult trip up the porch steps the first thing Artie is struck by is how cold it is. Kurt flicks on the lights and Artie surveys the area with interest, wondering how it was that he'd never been inside before.

"I'm going to put this in the fridge," Kurt says, dropping his bag and taking the casserole with him. "Make yourself at home."

Something brightly colored is peeking out of Kurt's messenger bag, and Artie pulls it out with interest.

"Hey Kurt?" He asks as he wheels himself into the brightly lit kitchen, flinching slightly as his eyes adjust. "Why do you have what appears to be the world's most disturbing children's book in your backpack?"

"Oh, Brittany gave me her book report on heart attacks to give to the doctors," he answers with a smirk.

"She does know that someone doesn't actually _attack _the heart, doesn't she? Because these illustrations are awfully graphic." Artie adjusts his glasses and Kurt takes the book swiftly out of his lap, smoothing the edges carefully and placing it aside.

"It's the thought that counts," he says fondly.

"Come on, my bedroom is downstairs, but there's a couch that folds out in the living room you can stay in, if that's ok."

"Sounds perfect," Artie answers with a broad smile, mentally taking note of the empty shelves and deciding to go on a grocery shopping trip the next day.

They get the bed made without much trouble, and Artie decides to sleep in his clothes to make things simpler. It's not until the last sheets are folded and the pillows placed that things get awkward again.

Kurt hovers over the bed, looking unsure of what to do. "Well, good night I guess." He's halfway to the basement door when Artie speaks up.

"I don't suppose that Top Model marathon is still going on?"

They end up ordering pizza (vegetarian, but still edible) drinking root beer and watching Tyra Banks wear progressively uglier pantsuits for three hours before Artie broaches the elephant hanging over their heads.

He's fairly certain Kurt is asleep; his head has fallen onto Artie's shoulder (their hands entwined between them) and he so says quietly, "I can't lie and tell you things are going to be OK. But I promise you, no matter what happens, we're all going to be there for you. I'm going to be there for you."

"Shh. Tyra's talking about 'smizing.'" Artie stifles a snort, and under the cover of darkness, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world they pretend that everything is normal, just for a little while.

"Thank you."


End file.
